Different Sides of the Coin
by Of Miracles And Men
Summary: This is a soon-to-be collection of one hundred drabbles about the rather underrated, yet wonderful couple of Bruce Wayne and Zatanna Zatara, meant to capture the little moments in life between them and the emotions that lay just below the surface and, occasionally, the friends that become and entangled and involved within it.
1. One To Four

**So, here I go, with the first four drabbles of my series! I hope you guys enjoy! Onward ho! **

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**One: Introduction**

Zatanna Zatara was different, right down from names all the way to personality; at least, Bruce knew that much.

The other girls or boys that his mother and father shooed him off with while they talked with their parents in smoky libraries and draped windows of politics and business were usually petty, shallow, and vapid, and Bruce made it a point to call them that often, making him the bane of play dates and causing him to have many afternoons spent in the grass, searching for grasshoppers and beetles that would accompany him on his adventures.

But Zatanna Zatara was no stuck-up, shallow child. She was interesting, down to her very core. When Bruce had become wary of her at first, with her disarming, cheerful smile and pretty face, and her politeness and her smooth, silky black curls that cascaded down her back, Bruce couldn't help but find his guard lowered in just the slightest.

And that was all it took. It had started when the two of them had been ushered off to the library, and Bruce had glowered at her from the corner while she promptly ignored his attitude and admired the vast library, the towering shelves of books, and the bright windows that allowed light in and set a romantic glow upon it.

Finally, the silence had grown long past awkward and more comfortable to the two of them; Zatanna finally stopped looking about the room and then finally looked to Bruce, who looked ready to sink into the shell that he had formed for himself, his glare becoming his primary defense.

With all the courtesy she could muster, Zatanna disrupted that silence and asked gently, "Are you going to keep glaring at me all day, Bruce?"

Bruce blinked in surprise. Whenever he glared, the girls either made attempts to prattle on about things that they like to do and then proceeded to obnoxiously asked him what he liked to do, while the boys usually attempted to drag him away from his chair and make him show them the house so that they could 'explore' or whatever other stupid things boys thought would win him over.

But he had never been asked something as simple as that. He honestly didn't know how to answer.

"Yes." He answered boldly, and his expression was adamant and unchanging as she regarded him.

"Okay," she said, and then she got up from her seat that captured her indentation, and then walked to the shelves of books, promptly ignoring him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, curiosity piqued and some sense of offense awakened, and the glare left his face for the slightest of moment as he craned his neck to see what she was doing; she was scanning the cracked, faded spines of the books with rapt interest.

"I'm looking for a good book. You could help me find a good one." She offered, and her bright brown eyes continued to scan the shelves, tiny fingers running over the threaded letters, embellished simply yet prettily, and then continued down the polished, waxed tile until he could no longer crane his neck to look.

"Why would I help you look for a book? They're all boring." Bruce called, and he dared to step out of his chair to look at her from around the corner of the bookshelf with a small, soft hand palming the wall cautiously; she was kneeling over a thick volume of mythology, something he never cared for in all nine years of his life (not that he knew what it was in the first place).

"Well, have you ever read any of the ones here?" she asked, and it was, of course, a simple question that pierced his armor the easiest, as he floundered for an example.

"…No." he answered, with the smallest smidgen of guilt creeping into his voice.

"Not even once?" at this, she looked up right at him, as if she expected him to be right there the whole time instead of huddled in his shell upon the corner of the room, and caught him off-guard so that he couldn't dare pull back before she noticed.

"No," he answered again, and this time there was more than a drop of guilt in it, although it was quickly replaced by a defensive anger as his brow furrowed. "Why, what does it matter?"

"No, I guess not. But I thought you might enjoy yourself reading a book in some good company than sitting in the corner by yourself," she offered with the simple honesty a child could give.

He blinked, and his brow began to furrow once more, cold blue eyes regarding her vacantly. "I'm not alone."

"If you stay there, you are. Come and sit if you feel like it," she smiled that sweet, pretty smile and patted the tile besides her, and then looked away from the pouting, pondering face that had poked out from behind the corner to warily study her to the book with yellowed, well-used and well-read pages, and soon found herself lost within them and traveling to other worlds.

It was a few minutes later that she the soft padding of leather shoes advance towards her and then a quiet voice inquire, hesitant and unsure, "What's the book about, anyways?"

**Two: Complicated**

Oh, it had never been easy having Bruce Wayne as a friend, Zatanna had been sure of that. Ever since the moment that she had convinced him, begrudging and sullen, to sit with her, she knew that it was going to being a trial to make him open up to her. He was the kind who was easily scared into himself, afraid to divulge and even less willing to listen, almost as if he was afraid that everyone around him was out to make it the worst for him.

But at the same time, she saw over the course of months that they grew to know each other that he could be sweet, good-natured, and reliable. The tight fists that he used to don so often and stuff brusquely into his pockets began to reveal a chocolate he had stolen from the pantry for her, a flower from the garden, a butterfly he had been careful not to harm that flew off on bright blue wings, off and away, spiraling to the heavens.

It was complicated. She knew that. She liked it.

It followed him into adolescence, when it grew so difficult, after that fateful night in the alley, when the shell consumed him and the smiles, once genuine, looked as if they were forced, scars etched into his cheeks to resemble joy. Bruce didn't want to see her anymore, as if her attempts to be natural and try to let his grief run the course of time were as painful as asking him to forget, and so she grew distant in reciprocation, learning with her father, but made sure that if there was ever a moment she could spare, that she would return once more to the manor.

And when she did, if she was lucky and Alfred had drawn the windows to let in the sun, she would see a smile that reminded her of their childhood, a smile that was genuine, and it was as she could see the real him, the real one that she wished would return.

It was complicated. She knew that. She would get used to it.

And after the years that passed, after the years of training from both sides, of resilience, of vows unspoken yet always present, when they reintroduced themselves to each other once more at a gala with vicious gossip and rumors tempered with malpractice, she found it so difficult to wonder if this was the sullen, grieving teen that she had grown so used to seeing instead of the tall, strapping man with a smile that still seemed too strained, too forced for her liking.

And then he leaned down and pulled her close like he had years and years ago.

"Hey, Zee," he whispered as he hugged her, and the embrace was awkward, as if he hadn't been held or held anyone like it for a long time, but she relaxed into it with a soft smile and spoke as quietly as he did.

"Hey, Bruce." She grinned, and closed her eyes and sighed.

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a promise. But it was a reminder. And she guessed she could live with that.

It was complicated.

**Three: Goosebumps**

They slid up and down her arms like a wave, caressing her skin and causing her to shudder involuntarily in the chill of the night, as the two of them stood by the gargoyles that were open-mouthed and scowling on cracked stone rooftops, and looked down to the world below.

"Are you cold?" Bruce asked, a low timbre that intruded upon the silence, and she felt the unexpected presence of eyes watching her, which caused them to return with a vengeance and allowed a shiver to slide up her spine.

"No," she grinned with what she hoped was a disarming smile, giving him a thumbs-up and hoping that her fingers hadn't fused together, "I'm perfect. I'm just, y'know, going to slowly die of hypothermia when I get home."

She mumbled the last part, hoping he would be deaf to it, and settled for rubbing her hands together; after all, she had to conserve her magic for any possible crimes, certainly not for protecting herself from the ungodly temperatures that oh-so-dearly enjoyed torturing magicians in fishnets and tuxedos.

Perhaps she was asking for it, especially when it was on the crisp cusp of autumn and the leaves, as she admired the leaves that had begun to descend down to earth and be scattered away to the winds when they decide to whisper through the streets. Goosebumps rolled up her arms and she fought the urge to shudder again, settling for biting the inside of her cheek.

A hand, firm and strong, found its way to her shoulder, and remained there, and it was probably due to the fact that it probably had its own personal radiator that it felt so warm, almost as if it was thawing out her shoulder from the ice that was most certainly plotting a way to freeze her in her heels to the rooftop. She looked, dark curls bouncing, to see Bruce staring down below, refusing to give her his gaze.

"We'll be done patrolling here soon. We can move somewhere closer to ground if you'd like then." He said, almost as if he was reassuring her, and it had to take someone who knew Bruce Wayne for practically all his life to know that this was the closest that he would ever come to a straight-up apology.

Zatanna looked from him, to the hand that continued to remain thawing her shoulder, back up to him again.

"Thanks," she said.

The goose bumps rolled up her spine again, but this time for a different reason.

**Four: Rivalry**

"So," she asked him a different night, as they sparred in the privacy and comfort of the cave, "Selina Kyle, huh?"

"What about her?" he asked, his cowl dangling from behind so that she could admire that handsome face of his (not that she told him that she thought it was handsome) and dodged the punch that snapped towards his jaw.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Just curious." She said, offhandedly and as casually as she could maintain while restraining the venom that fought to dominate her voice. She spun around in a flurry of motion to aim a kick at his ribs that he managed to evade, "But while we're on the subject…"

"She's a friend. A respected companion." He replied as she stepped back to avoid a chop that most likely would have had her down for the count, and she managed to crack a few knuckles on the armor that so conveniently protected his shoulder. "She's saved my life a few times."

"Oh. Well, I, on the other hand, have managed to save your life _countless_ times. A fact that I pride myself on." She retorted with unsubtle pride, and exhaled sharply through her nose with the effort of having a pressure-point applied on her arm, and quickly found herself taking a step back.

"Is she beautiful?" Zatanna asked while the two of them circled each other, daring the other to strike first.

"Focus," he commanded imperiously and made up for the lost distance between the two of them, and jabbed towards her stomach as she jabbed at his.

"If you insist," she graciously replied, and kicked out at his chest, causing him to stagger back, taken off-guard for the smallest of a moment and then regaining his bearings. He reciprocated by kicking out at her neck, which she thankfully managed to only have to duck to dodge, and then stood once more, lashing out with a curled fist at his jaw.

"How long have you known her?" she asked, curiously, as he stooped down to knock out the footing from underneath her and she found herself in a rather unruly heap on the floor. After a lot of pain that she knew would make it hurt to sit in the most imminent future, she managed to open her eyes to see Bruce glaring down at her with an expression that stated how less than pleased he was.

"A lot less than I've known you," he said, and then, as any gentleman would (although Bruce Wayne was a far cry from one), he extended a hand to help her up, which she gratefully took, and hoisted herself to her feet, rubbing the sore side of her back.

"Why do you care, anyways?" he asked, and his irritation was replaced by the milder side of bemusement as he cocked an eyebrow and stared at her with those wary blue eyes.

She shrugged, curls bouncing and wincing as she did so.

"I'm curious. I hope you don't send me to Arkham over it," and she sent him a grin returned with a glare.

"Not funny," he said, and he returned to his side of the floor to restart the match, to which she couldn't help but snort a little bit (after all, if one didn't have a death wish, one certainly would), and then she, too, returned to her end.

_Besides, _she thought, _I hate losing. _

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**If you guys would like, I would really appreciate some one-word prompts for my next few drabbles. Feel free to drop by a few words and say what you liked or didn't like about the stories. Thanks! **


	2. Five To Eight

**Five: Nightmares**

There was a sweeping feeling of adrenaline that coursed through her veins, sending her stock-still and terrified as the short, harrying breaths escaped her as quickly as her reason did. A quick, slippery sensation grabbed at her throat and denied her all air, demanding that she observe the horrors that she watched, unable to close her eyes, unable to return back to the world of sanity.

She screamed, and it was a silent, despairing plea for help.

The world returned to her as she twitched back to awakening, back to the world of reason and reality, although calling it 'sane' was wrong by a long shot, and terror, the horror, lingered in her system as it propelled her to sit up in her bed, slowly, shakily, sheets spilling over her figure, hands clawing at her throat to make sure she was breathing and alive.

"What is it?" a familiar voice asked that was a welcome interrupter of the silence that threatened to drown her up, and she glanced down to the silhouette framed by black. She wondered if she squinted, she could see those blue eyes staring up at her, concerned and anxious.

Her hands slowly lowered, with a tremble that would not easily lend itself away to someone, she shook her head, sighing in disbelief.

"What do you do if you have nightmares, Bruce?" she asked, a whisper, as she ran a hand through her frazzled hair and felt the drumbeat of her heart slowly fade away to its regular pace.

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the bed, as a hand, firm and strong, found hers and the thumb slowly rubbed soothing circles into her palm.

"I go back to sleep." He answered, simply.

"We should all be so lucky," she grumbled, but found her head drifting back to the comfort of her pillow, her hand not relinquishing his as she drew the sheets over her body and dared, dared to close her eyes and face the blackness once more, comforted by the hand that anchored her back to reality.

At least if she had nightmares, she would have some company with her.

**Six: Everyday Magic**

Zatanna was special. Bruce had known that as soon as they had been introduced, as soon as he had dared to become friends with her, as soon as the small, disquieting sparks of childhood crushes began to bloom and flower within him; he had always known that she was, well…_different. _

But it was a good different. He was always sure of that. At the time, when he was younger, though, he wasn't able to put his finger on it. But as the years passed, as the time drifted away and the two of them shed their awkward, gangly adolescence for adulthood, he was finally able to understand, as he sat in red velvet seats and she performed for crowds that clapped and cheered and clamored for more.

She was amazing. With that air about her that seemed to radiate friendliness and that ability to dazzle and wow even the most coldhearted of skeptics, she could win them over if she just had a top hat and a wand at her side.

But she had won him over without that, without the stage and the flashing lights and the top hat, just with a sincere smile and the simple honesty she had tucked under her sleeve. That made her an extraordinary kind of different, the fact that she didn't need the extraordinary magic to convince him.

No, just the everyday kind of magic.

**Seven: Obsession**

She had seen the signs, of course. Those glassy eyes that watched the caskets be lowered into the ground, the solid thud of shovels that anointed them in their return to the earth, she saw the signs of anger burning, simmering coolly inside of him. It had tempered his grief, but at the same rendered him unable to return to the old Bruce that she knew and loved.

Zatanna had known it wasn't going to end well. But she also knew that this something that she couldn't change, as the anger slowly stewed and ate him alive, becoming the obsession she hoped it wouldn't become, making him the cold and distant person she was so used to now.

She saw how it enthralled him as they fought, back-to-back, alone, or against each other, the obsession. As obsessions went, it was a bad one, with good intentions, but if she didn't dare say anything. He had ingrained it into him far past the point of no return, that much was clear, the desire for his rage and his sense of vengeance to reciprocate in the sweet tones of justice. Vigilantism was just the way he decided it would best suit him. It was a dangerous, more hands-on approach, but it got the job done.

She just hoped it wouldn't leave him when he needed it the most.

**Eight: Only Human**

There were too many jokes about him, too many rumors that circled around his head, either on Earth or on the Watchtower. That his heart was locked up in a chest. That he was secretly a robot who was acting as Bruce Wayne. That the devil had taken his soul but spit it back out, saying it was too cold, even for him.

Or so the rumors went, spreading and grouping and transforming into things more inappropriate and unsuitable for print. Some of them, Zatanna admitted, made her laugh. But there was always one recurring factor in the stories, in the rumors, in the gossip that spread.

"After all, he's only human."

Yeah, that was it. He was only human. After all, everyone had a heart. Everyone had emotions. But Bruce Wayne was the only one to refuse to admit that they were there. Of course, there were also those strange and wild few that had actually seen him _express _one, and she was proud to admit that she was one of them, maybe even been on the kind, receiving end of one of them. People were bound to make mistakes some time. People were bound to show that they had _some _kind of affection, or kindness, within, far away as it was tucked in.

After all, people were only human. And so, unfortunately as Bruce Wayne liked to squelch the rumors, so was he.

That was probably what she liked so much about him.


	3. Nine To Twelve

**Nine: Observer**

J'onn was an observer, through and through. There were many things that he noticed on the Watchtower, many patterns, such as how Wally couldn't resist the urge to gravitate towards a woman he hadn't introduced himself to, how any situation involving Mari, Shayera, and John in the same room would most certainly end in an vicious argument, or how whenever there was a fight and it was because of politics, one could safely assume Oliver Queen was the usual suspect.

At least, those were the less subtle ones. Then there were the more restrained ones he noticed, ones that struggled to become more covert in their ways and usually succeeded, as it took a while to slowly fit the many pieces of the puzzle together; such as when Diana and Clark began to more purposefully shield their thoughts from him and then, to his bemusement, watch as the two of them began to increase the proximity between them until everyone became accustomed to the sight of the two back-to-back on missions, in deep discussion with one another, and then, the last piece of the puzzle, caught in embrace in the most unassuming of moments.

Another was when Ted and Booster attempted to kickstart their business for sweatbands endorsed by the league, but decided for once to be circumspect in their scheme, something J'onn would have lauded them for had it been any other circumstance. For a while, many were dumbstruck as to why there were so many ads merchandising sweatbands delivered anonymously to their doors or why there was an unfortunate lack of them in the gyms and sparring rooms, but it finally culminated when someone (who it was, even J'onn couldn't discover) mysteriously hacked the feed on everyone's commlinks and all anyone could hear for hours were the saccharine, senselessly annoying ads for 'Gold and Kord's Sweatbands.'

Needless to say, Bruce was livid and Booster Gold and Ted both decided to call a leave of absence for the next few months. J'onn pitied their plight, selfish as it was, and decided to let them off lightly in order to spare them from Bruce's wrath.

While on the subject of Bruce, J'onn found many patterns of order and meticulous care in his colleague, as well as an undemonstrative sense of pride. There was much that J'onn could understand about him, yet at the same time, very little as well. His presence was looming and ever-so-stifling depending on who accompanied him. With one such as Wally, it was definitely oppressive, while with those such as Diana and Clark, it was a sense of camaraderie, and for those such as J'onn, mutual respect.

Yet there was a bit of a…unexpected presence in these patterns. Although Bruce always, always shielded his mind from J'onn (it was to be expected after all, it _was_ Bruce), sometimes, around the magician, the one with the top hat and a smile accustomed to her face, he was able to catch a vestige of…something, something…_different_.

What it was, J'onn couldn't say. After all, he was just an observer, through and through.

**Ten: Discovery**

Zatanna hadn't meant to find it. She was only being a very neighborly friend, and offered to help Bruce clean out the clutter, the junk of days long past, from the attics, the nooks, the crannies, the deep, descending basement, as Bruce was determined to finally organize it for once, and she just figured that insanity happened to work in mysterious ways and simply obliged.

But she hadn't meant to find it. She really hadn't. It was in the moment after Bruce left the room, to go transfer the large, bulky Queen Anne's chair in the basement that was faded and collecting cobwebs that clustered in the arms and dust that settled upon it like a blanket, when she nudged the box.

Something rattled, like marbles rolling about, causing her head to turn and make her think of all ungodly sorts of creatures that were tucked away and hiding within the crevices and cracks of Wayne Manor, causing her to seriously reconsider why she was down in the dark basement alone with things that were most certainly beyond her control. It took her a moment longer to remind herself that she was an incredibly capable magician and that she could probably handle whatever was in the box (most certainly a fiendish, hellish creature called a mouse) and palmed the box, which was much smaller than it had initially appeared in the dark, and tapped it tentatively.

There was no sound. Hesitantly, keeping a weather eye on it, she shook it. The rattling resumed again, causing her to twitch, but she regained her bearings and then, when the rattling died down, slowly, slowly lifted it up from where it perched on a stack on a stack of boxes.

Pursing her lips, she blew off twenty years of dust that billowed out into the air and dissipated into nothingness, and, fumbling in the darkness for a clasp, managed to open it and stared, holding it to the light from the open door that bled out from the hallway, creeping down to the stairs and just enough so that she could see the contents of what, she realized, was an old, delicate jewelry box.

A necklace strung with twenty-eight perfect, concentric pearls gleamed up at her from the corner of the box that they had rolled to, and she recalled a night where the same necklace turned a wonderful evening spent watching 'The Mark of Zorro' into tragedy.

And then she remembered, from a small corner in the back of her head that she had closed up and tucked away, where she had seen this certain necklace before.

"Find anything worth keeping down there?" Bruce's voice drifted down to her from up above, and she jumped rattling the box in her hands and causing the noise of rolling, rolling marbles to echo in the basement.

"I'll let you know if I do," she called up, casual as she could, and quietly shut the box, redid the clasp that accused her of opening Pandora's Box, and replaced it where she had originally found it, intending on devoting her time to another, less painful corner of the room.

She hadn't meant to find it. She really hadn't.

**Eleven: Children**

She didn't necessarily like children, but at the same time, she didn't think she necessarily hated them. After all, she didn't hate herself as a child, so that must have counted for something. But there were plenty of children that she didn't like when she herself was a child, so she figured that must have evened her out to a fine-line neutral.

Well, she had a nephew, but she wasn't sure that entirely counted; after all, she wasn't the one raising him, although he looked like he was shaping out into a decent kid.

But she liked the children that Bruce adopted, the ones that he had taken under his wing and trained to become miniature little Bruces like him, only instead of with the darkness he had forced upon himself, they managed to make temper it with the optimism that they came to the job with. She wondered if that was what made most of them hate Bruce in the end, the fact that they could coexist with the light and transcend between it and the darkness that encompassed their lives, and the fact that he couldn't.

Dick was the first one, so he was the golden child in both of their eyes, always eager, always willing to help, to offer that clever little quip, to just be there for the sake of being there, and an overall fun kid to be around. It didn't hurt that he could do a quadruple flip over a one-hundred foot drop without breaking a sweat, and nerves of steel like those were pretty important with a job like the one Bruce expected him to carry.

He was one of those kids that made her in favor of them, but after he left, after everything had been said and done, after Bruce would become sullen for days after hearing even mention of his name, she wondered with lingering doubts if they were worth the trouble it took—to give them everything you could offer, only to see them throw it back in your face.

After that, it only went downhill, because the second one had been Jason, the black sheep, the black mark in the book. The child from the streets that Bruce took pity, tried to train, tried to hope for a second chance, hoped to find another Dick Grayson in but just couldn't, just couldn't face the abrasive personality that was just as stubborn as his, and in doing so, sealed his fate, and his death.

No one mentioned Jason Todd anymore.

So far, it seemed like the last child that Bruce would be satisfied was Tim Drake, not quite the golden child, not quite the black sheep, but the solid in-between, a child who still had parents but could still cooperate with Bruce in the world where orphans had no happy endings, and was perfectly competent in switching back and forth between the two. Zatanna knew what Tim represented to Bruce, and that was a second chance, a second chance that hadn't been offered to him with his second kid. And if he was fine with that idea, then she would be okay with it too.

But if there was one thing that the years and years had taught her from it, it was that kids were probably better off in someone's hands that weren't hers.

**Twelve: Scars**

"You're going to tear yourself apart if you keep it up like this," she said, running a hand down his back riddled with scars, pale or deep and dark, curving or straight, reminiscent of how old wounds had sliced through his skin and marred his body.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the cool touch of her hand on his back. "They don't bother me anymore."

"God," was all she could reply with, and at that, her hand left the war-torn body but kept her gaze there, unable to tear her eyes away. "Didn't they ever, y'know, _hurt?"_

"They only hurt when I think about them," he joked, and at that she scoffed, derisive, and rolled her eyes.

"You're only going to get more of them with that attitude. God forbid whoever is your dermatologist."

He chuckled, a warm laugh that was a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of the cave, and he shook his head. "I can't afford to worry about them, Zee. If I have them when the job is done, then that's something I can live with."

"Yeah, I know. But you don't see me becoming a masochist to get audiences at my theaters." She retorted, and to this he chuckled again, turning around to cock an eyebrow at her. "Who said I was a masochist?"

She folded her arms, returning the arched brow. "Take a look at that back of yours and then we'll talk."

He smiled, but disregarded the comment. "No one's ever without a few scars."

She shrugged. "I guess so."

She just didn't want to tell him that to her, it seemed like he actually wanted them.


	4. Thirteen To Sixteen

**Just wanted to have a quick word and thank everyone who has read my stories up to now; I'm so glad you wanted to stop by and just read a bit! Anyways, onward! **

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**Thirteen: Doctor **

Zatanna's heels clicked down the cobblestone-brick hall that loomed down into darkness, one that she meandered down quietly, trying not to be too early or too late. Her doctor did not appreciate it when she was either of those, merely on the time that he had prescribed her. But on the other hand, it didn't seem as if he really appreciated anything (though she would tell him that over her dead body, as he could easily arrange such a matter).

Running her fingertips over the wall that was at once jutted and smooth, she continued to walk, dissonant echoes following her and a tune that tickled her lips ever-so-softly, looking as a door that had previously been hidden in the void blackness awaiting emerged, and her pace quickened in an effort to draw near.

The door was large and oaken, the frame of it gilded in tarnished bronze and a knocker that was similar to the head dragon, gruesome and twisted in its expression as a large, rusted ring was caught in between its teeth. Zatanna struggled to recall the process that allowed entrance and found herself not a few feet before the door.

She turned in the golden doorknob that had not been there previous seconds before, and then pushed opened the door that creaked and moaned with the weight that being an old door required.

Inside, it was large and staggeringly different from what a regular doctor's office would be expected, with stairways upside-down, downside-up, sideways, or diagonal, and blinking, warping portals that lead to nowhere and everywhere, and as cobblestone pathways that arced and curved and led to only one vertex in the dimension she walked into.

Zatanna closed the door, and after one last quiet moment, spoke to the silence.

"Doctor Fate, are you there?"

"I always am, Zatanna." A voice, comfortingly familiar, called to her from above, and she looked up to see a figure descending down to Earth, clad in blue and gold, and she waited patiently for him to meet her, eye-to-eye, so the two of them could talk, and placed a casual hand on her hip as she waited.

"How are you, my dear?" he asked politely as he always did, with the inclination of his helmet that allowed her to see a golden version of herself staring back in that perfectly polished gilded helmet of his, and she watched her head ebb and warp in the reflection as she nodded back to him.

"I'm great, Doc. How's Inza?" she replied as she always did, tilting back the brim of her top hat as he turned to guide her to where she would usually complete the remainder of her appointment.

"She is perfect, as usual. How is your infatuation with Bruce Wayne?" he asked courteously, in the tone that made a blush creep onto her face and wonder if he was really being polite or just messing around with her (although with his nigh-impenetrable helmet, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference).

"It's still there. Do you have to put it like that, though?" she asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously as she offered him a guilty smile, although it was lost to the back of his head, which reflected her shame.

"Forgive a doctor for his curiosity to the things blatantly obvious." He tilted his head and she winced at his retort, apparently seemingly innocent. "Now, if you would please, we do need to complete your appointment."

And people wondered why Zatanna hated going to the doctor.

**Fourteen: Distractions**

The old man spoke to Bruce, condoning him for his lack of patience. "Focus, Bruce. Your train of thought is spastic."

"Apologies, sensei," he bowed his head respectfully, and then broadened his shoulder, straightening his back, returning his eyes to the darkness as he closed them, and then he returned to the teacher's calm, instructing words.

"When one seeks for the balance that you do, my student, I am afraid that they cannot be hindered by earthly possessions. And you…I fear you have too many. They disturb you, surrounding you voraciously. I can see that much."

An eye opened. "But I have given them all up. I've tried to."

The old man furrowed his brow at him disapprovingly and Bruce quickly closed his eye to him again.

"Trying to do so not the same as doing, child. And saying that they are gone does not mean that they still do not influence your mind, at all times. After all, you have had a life of luxury. Even though you may shed it all to join a school, in your mind, you may still find yourself elevated above others."

"But sensei—"

"Even though you have strived for peace, and serenity, you are still tempered by rage, and by grief." The man continued, ignoring his interruption, the two of them knowing that Bruce would pay the price for it later in training.

Bruce chose to remain silent this time, and at his teacher's words his mind wandered back to that dark, dark alley that forbade and spoke to him, crooning to him of his greatest fears, rank with the stench of death and echoing with the sound, the horrible, horrible bang of a gun firing twice—

"_Bruce._ Concentrate." The voice of his sensei called back to him once more, returning him to reality, and at this Bruce straightened his back once more and continued to struggle to find the serenity that all others at his school so easily achieved.

"But not only that, there is someone who is waiting for you back home."

Confusion bled through him for a moment as he tried to recall the people who were remaining, still faithfully waiting for him, and his mind went to the far and the few. There was always Alfred, who had smiled wearily and warily at him as he had gone and waved goodbye, and promised the estate would be always waiting for him, as would he. But who else?

A familiar smile, a familiar face framed with long, dark curls spoke to him from the back of his mind, and kind, accepting eyes looked at him with warmth he sorely missed. Friendship and trust could be read from her body language and her words, and the way she would beckon him into a hug or offer him a few encouraging words. He would always trust her, if he could, and if chose to, love her, which he did.

Zatanna.

"Bruce." The voice of his sensei was weary, and disappointed. "Open your eyes."

The weary teacher gave his wayward student a vindictive stare as Bruce did so, and sighed silently with the impatience that all teachers can sympathize with, silently regarding the shame on his student's downward expression.

"As I said, Bruce, distractions."

**Fifteen: Gossip**

"Well, what about them?" Dick asked, reclining back in his seat and allowing his gaze to meander up to the ceiling shrouded in shadows, and then allowing it to rest sidelong on Tim, who was quietly doodling in his workbook, pitting stick-figures against one another.

"I don't know. I'm just askin'." He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that communicated nothing to the elder, who arched an eyebrow at the younger and contemplated the idea, swiveling in his seat to him, brow furrowing.

"What, do _you_ think they are?" he asked, refocusing the attention back on Tim. Tim, interest momentarily piqued, looked back up to him and shrugged his shoulders up into the air once more.

"Beats me. I was just askin. Why, have you seen anything? You've known them longer."

"What? Well—I—_no._ Maybe. I don't know." Dick shook his head as if to the clear the air of the confusion that permeated it. "I mean, they've known each other since they were kids. But I haven't seen anything. They're probably, y'know, just good friends. I mean, it's probably nothing."

"Do you like her?" Tim asked, and Dick turned just a hair too fast for it to be played off as natural.

"What?" there was a clear expression of guilt and almost the tiniest hint of shame on his face; he couldn't lie to save his life.

"What? Can't I ask a simple question? I mean, she _is_ pretty hot." Tim grinned with the slyness that adolescents can get away with, and his grin remained as he returned down to his doodling of stick figures. "I wouldn't judge you if you liked her too."

Dick relaxed back in his chair at Tim's admission and permission for his elder to admit so as well, but not by much.

"Well…maybe just a little. I talked with her all the time because she would team up with Bruce a lot when I was growing up."

"So you had one of those 'sempai notice me' crushes?" Tim snorted. "That's really something, Dick."

"What the hell is a sempai?" Dick asked, brow furrowing once more, but shook his head. "I just ended up liking her a lot after I got to know her. She was like the yin to Bruce's yang. Nice, funny, smart, and not as violent."

"And _hot."_

Dick paused for a moment, looking at Tim, who didn't even bother suppressing his large grin as he looked up for a similar response, sidelong once more as he swiveled back in his chair to his original position.

"Well, that too."

There was another moment of comfortable silence that the two of them appreciated before Tim spoke up again.

"So, do you think they are?"

Dick thought about this question again in the new light that Tim had so conveniently provided for him.

"God, I hope not."

**Sixteen: Breakfast**

At two different spots, two different people with fates intertwined since long ago wake up for breakfast.

One of them is awakened by her personal baby dragon that she got as a gift from Merlin after going back into the past and aiding the Knights of the Round Table, and it is adorable but prone to nibbling on her good cotton bed sheets or burping up spastic blue flame. When her little darling is done wailing for food, she manages to fumble out of bed and congratulate herself on a job well done last night, either from a successful show or a successful fight, usually with company.

Speaking of that company, on the other side of town, the second is awoken by a butler that chooses to open the drapes wide and shine the bright sunlight on his face and offer a chipper quip of the day, and then goes downstairs to prepare him breakfast. He sits up and then winces in pain at the scars of last night, sore all over and in need of a remedy that breakfast, hopefully, can provide, unaware of just what exactly is cooking for breakfast and what his butler is planning as said butler dials the phone to an apartment where a pet dragon is being fed.

The phone rings. Zatanna Zatara looks with bleary, sleepy eyes to the phone that rings in her house and mutters an incomprehensible incantation that summons the receiver to her awaiting palm while in the meantime; she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

On the other side of town, a butler kindly reminds the worn-out magician of the convenient thing that she has forgotten at the manor from the previous night of vigilantism, and asks if she would be so kind as to come and take it with her back home, but asks that she not summon it to her house with magic as he would appreciate not having another window broken as the previous incident in which she attempted to do so.

The butler glances up the stairs warily as he hears the thump and thud of a tired man attempting to dress properly for the first meal of the day.

Fully awake for the first time in the morning, Zatanna can do little but stumble a rushed apology, apologizing for her inadequate memory and offers to come and pick it up right away, and, at hearing the sizzle of eggs and sausages cooking on the other end, her stomach rumbles, but she quickly quells it in order to offer a final apology and a promise of coming over to the manor right away.

Smiling, the butler hangs up the phone and then, flipping the sausages that are nicely browning, calls up the stairs to ask if Master Bruce would be so kind as to bring down the thing that Miss Zatanna forgot last night, and smiles as he hears the groggy reply echo down the stairs, as it will take Bruce just enough time to search for it and realize that whatever Miss Zatanna forgot is either nonexistent or downstairs.

In this case it is the former, but the butler chooses not to mention it at this point. It will just be enough time for him to realize one of the two as Miss Zatanna arrives.

The butler primly flips an egg that is percolating with oil, and enjoys the aroma of it before he decides to let it simmer for a moment in order to go set the table for two.

After a hurried exit out of her house preceding no food, a quick change of clothes into something suitable for public, and a goodbye kiss to her baby dragon, Zatanna is driving in a 2014 Kia Optima bought with hard-earned money from many a night in show business to the manor on the other side of town, as she is concerned that she is not awake enough to transport herself to the house without getting everything there at once.

As Bruce arrives down the stairs and asks why the table is set for two, the butler merely smiles and chides himself for his weary forgetfulness as the doorbell rings, and, avoiding the accusing stare of his Master Bruce, excuses himself to go answer it.

The door opens to reveal a frazzled Zatanna, who, although looking a bit disheveled, is still very lovely, and apologizes for taking such a long time as the butler smiles warmly and ushers her into the foyer, where Bruce is watching the event before him and has a rather disbelieving expression upon his face.

After a moment of slow realization, Zatanna shares a look with Bruce, and then the two of them look to the butler, who, apparently and by all means entirely innocent, asks them what in the world could be the matter, and, that, if anything was left at the house as of the events of last night, that it should be searched for immediately…of course, after a bite of breakfast.

And then, before either the magician or the vigilante can object, ushers them into the dining room and sits the two of them down at the table for breakfast and then leaves the two of them there to retire to the kitchen where he will wait, and, if he can, conveniently eavesdrop.

After an incredulous moment, the two of them share a stunned look that slowly forms into smiles, and then, exhausted and unrepressed laughter. The two of them adjust to their seating, either by rubbing the back of their necks or smoothing out their shirts, and then, after having a quick glance at their food, and then to each other, wonder why not, and offer each other a makeshift toast to the beginning of the day, and figure well enough to dig in.

After stealing a quick glance, the butler returns back to the safety of the kitchen, washing the dishes that have cluttered up the sink, and smiles to himself, wondering if maybe he can arrange for dinner for the two of them tonight.


End file.
